Brevity on Baker Street
by gnbrules
Summary: A series of 221B drabbles of all genres, featuring a lot of John and Sherlock banter, bickering, berating, bemusement, and bromance. With occasional appearances by everyone else. Spanning all seasons, with mostly canon pairings/romantic interests and hints of up-to-your-imagination Johnlock throughout.
1. Burn

**Brevity on Baker Street**

**Summary: A series of 221B drabbles of all genres, featuring a lot of John and Sherlock banter, bickering, berating, bemusement, and bromance. With occasional appearances by everyone else. Spanning all seasons, with mostly canon pairings/romantic interests and hints of up-to-your-imagination Johnlock throughout.**

**A/N: Found out what 221B drabbles were and decided that sounded fun. What a nice way to challenge myself and keep creative juices flowing while adding some ficlets to the fandom. This one doesn't have a preconceived ending and after the first wave of brain bursts, probably won't be updated regularly, only as inspiration comes. Any B-word suggestions or requests are welcome though!**

"I'd do it all again, Sherlock," says John, staunching the flow of blood from his chest as best he can with his own hand. He's half rambling but words have never been more important. He wants to give Sherlock as many of them as he can; he knows what it's like to lose someone without any answers or assurances. "I just want you to know that. I'd be your best friend and have these adventures and – even if this is where it ends, I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. You said I saved you. You saved me too. Please remember that."

"Shut up, John!" Sherlock roars as John is loaded onto the ambulance. "You are not dying. You are not."

John loses consciousness at just that moment, and Sherlock's words die in his throat.

Later, in the hospital, John awakens to one of the worst sights he's ever seen: Sherlock Holmes smirking, the smuggest he's ever been.

"I told you that you weren't dying."

The realization hits then. If he's not dead, he may have just made the most embarrassingly sentimental admission of anyone, ever. "Oh God, I'm in hell, aren't I?"

"A bullet misses his heart by a solid inch and John Watson thinks he's dying. And you say I'm the drama queen?"

John's cheeks begin to burn.


	2. Bang

**A/N: Rated T for John's love life.**

_Bang._

The sound on the door is booming, and John curses under his breath.

"Should you get that?" Alice asks, and he shakes his head and presses his lips back against her neck. "No, just..." He moves against her and she gives a loud moan that sends his head swimming.

A repetitive, rapping knock. "John, can't you hear me?"

John lets out a growl and pushes himself out of the bed, sweeping the sheet along and wrapping it around his waist. He opens the door just enough to poke his head out. "What is it, Sherlock?" he asks, glaring with murder in his eyes.

Sherlock is unaffected. "John, I am trying to sleep, and I can hear _her _all the way in my room."

"Use earmuffs," says John, attempting to close the door. "I can't help it if she's enthusiastic about me."

Sherlock snorts, and doesn't bother to keep his voice down. "All the other girls had no problem holding it in."

From the bed: "All the other girls?" Alice cries out. "He has other girls over?"

"All the time," Sherlock addresses her.

"Before you-" John attempts, but she's already off about being just another number to him, just another notch on his bedpost.

Sherlock reaches his room just in time to hear the front door shut with a bang_._

**A/N: You just know Sherlock's cockblocked John A LOT.**_  
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	3. Blue

**A/N: Molly chapter, featuring Benny C's/Sherlock's outstanding heterochromia.**

Like the rest of him, Sherlock's eyes are something Molly can't seem to pin down. It's not like she spends days thinking of them, but they are very _interesting_ eyes. Most days they're all colors at once, ice blue and clever green and deep brown. But some days she swears they change from one to another, and not just because of lighting. No, they change with his mood, she's certain.

When he's challenged, they're sparkling green. She's seen it when he's looking at something and hasn't quite made sense of it yet. Or when John will surprise him with quick wit or a slight at his expense. It's the way he looks when he feels, however briefly, that he's evenly matched.

They're never just brown, but sometimes the brown in his eyes are shades darker. That's when he's bored and though she can't be positive, it's also when he's sad. She wonders, what makes Sherlock sad in those moments when his mind isn't as overwhelmed by facts and mysteries?

It's the blue, however, that surprises her. His eyes are blue when he smiles genuinely, or when he's fond of someone (usually John), or when he feels at home. It's when _she_ feels like she can see into the heart he pretends he doesn't have. Molly likes them best when they're blue.


	4. Before

**A/N: Tag or missing moment for A Study in Pink. T for mild language.**

"So you're...what, a junkie?" asks John, and Sherlock regards him with interest. "It's just, you don't look it, but the fact that a drugs' bust is something Lestrade uses-"

"I'm not a junkie, John. There are just certain _stimulants_ that help to keep the world moving as fast as my mind does when I don't have any cases to do it. I can't be faulted for that."

The look on John's face says quite clearly that, yes, he can be. "I can't be around it," John says firmly. "My family's been through the mill with addiction. You know about Harry and there's just too many damages all around for me to be okay with it."

Sherlock's eyes tighten. "You're saying you no longer wish to share a flat."

"No, you bloody sod, I'm saying I'm going to help you quit. While I live here, you won't touch it. And I'm going to look around the flat, and if I find that _shit _then I'm throwing it out."

"Why does it even matter to you what I'm up to?"

"Because I _care._"

It's this that leaves Sherlock at a loss for rebuttal. Nearly everyone knows of his occasional drug use and leaves it alone. But John wants to stop him because he _cares_, like no one has ever bothered to before.

**A/N: John had been so certain Sherlock wouldn't touch the stuff, and later in the series we see John being a sort of watchdog about it, I thought this would be cute. Really wish we'd seen a little snippet of this exchange on the show.**


	5. Brother

Mycroft has never needed friends, not when he was a child and not now. He has his brother, and though dim by comparison, he has always been the closest Mycroft has to an equal. He finds it hard to love anyone who cannot offer him at least that much. He has a begrudging affection for his parents, but there is no real connection there. Sherlock has as a soft spot for their mother just as she does for him, but Mycroft has no such ties to bind him. Caring is a fault.

Mycroft tried to teach Sherlock this, but he failed his lessons quite often. With Mum and Redbeard and the way he'd insult the taunting children back only to break down in private. Those lessons from brother to brother never really stuck.

Not that it mattered. Sherlock found his own way of warding off people.

And then John Watson comes to Baker Street, and Sherlock takes to him faster than he's ever taken to anyone. The two fill a mutual need in each other. Mycroft watches it unfold and sees a friendship form, sees a weakness grow in Sherlock.

It's a damn shame, he thinks, to see Sherlock diminish his rational mind in favor of compassion.

No, Mycroft has never needed friends, and he's certainly not jealous of his brother.


	6. Best

**A/N: The Empty Hearse tag/missing moment.**

He sees Sherlock shirtless once, after his return from the dead. There's a scar on his back, and John's a little thrown. He thought only he had the physical scars. He tries to think what case it might have been that did it, but he doesn't have Sherlock's Mind Palace and comes up short. Unable to resist, he reaches out and grazes the white line and Sherlock jumps into the air and turns on him.

"Sorry, just...what case is that from?"

"Not a case," he says curtly, and John waits until Sherlock gives in to his questioning gaze. "Moriarty's network could be a barbaric bunch."

John has never before considered what Sherlock might have been through, and now the thought makes him blanch. He'd only been consumed with Sherlock being _alive _and having lied at the time and now he wonders with some distress what else Sherlock might have endured in those years.

Sherlock doesn't seem concerned, though. "Mycroft's doctors cleaned up the wounds, and prevented scarring as much as they could."

"Yeah, you can only really tell up close," John says, because he's not sure what else to say.

"I do remember wishing you'd been there, though."

"Why's that?"

"Because, John, Mycroft's doctors may be renowned, but as far as saving and healing me is concerned...you are simply the _best._"


	7. Birthday

There's only so much room in his Mind Palace, as he's told John again and again. Things that matter are stored while things that don't are efficiently discarded. General trivia is _generally_ useless, as are names of people he mostly defines by their function (Gavin Lestrade comes to mind). Anniversaries of any sort are also easy to throw out. He can tell you the exact details of John and Mary's wedding ceremony, but ask him to pick it out on a calendar and he'll say _why would I know that?_

This though. This is something else. He burns this day deep into his mind, with facts of every case that's still relevant, with violin chords, with Mycroft's weaknesses and with John calling him his best friend. Right there beside his own name, his address, and Redbeard.

She is, in all ways, beautiful. He understands, now, or at least he thinks he might, the appeal of making and having such a creature. She is a little piece of Mary. A little piece of John. That last thought makes him swell up with such affection he thinks he might burst with it, and he's glad Mycroft can't read his mind and abuse him for such a poetic flaw. She's his weakness and he doesn't care. He'll never forget today, not ever: her birthday.


	8. Blogger

**A/N: This one is a the first chapter of a two-parter, the resolution of which will be in the next chapter. I don't know where in the series this would go besides definitely before season 3.**

They're having a row because Sherlock's said something insensitive and for once John can't let it by, and then Sherlock just keeps adding fuel to the fire and saying the wrong thing. He mostly doesn't mean to, but in a way he does. Because John Watson's the only one that's always stood by him at his worst, but even he has limits and Sherlock wants to find them so he _knows. _

And now John's coped with a few drinks and the yelling has started again, this time with a looser tongue and less even-headed mind.

The word slips and Sherlock freezes, feels like he's been punched in the stomach. He's never cared when Donovan uses it because he has no respect for her. That one word does stick though, and he remembers primary school taunts and teacher whispers and that general discomfort in his presence. John was the only one to see it as a virtue, the only one to say "brilliant" rather than "piss off."

But now he's found even John's limits, because the man who called his gift brilliant and has put up with him for ages is in stark contrast to the man before him now.

He's been called a _freak _by many and it's never mattered before.

He just never thought he'd hear it from his blogger.

**A/N: I promise the resolution is less of a downer.**


	9. Brilliant

**A/N: This is the sequel/companion chapter to Blogger.**

The problem with knowing and loving someone so well, John thinks, is knowing how to hurt them too. John knows just from observation the way the insult of freak resonates with Sherlock, knows just how much more it would strike coming from himself. That's why he never meant to say it, and if his head had been clearer of anger and alcohol, he never would have.

Sherlock drives him up the wall sometimes, especially when he seems to think John's personal matters are somehow less important than his cases, and being unsympathetic about Harry's latest drama had been more than John could stand. So he'd started yelling and had some drinks and Sherlock just kept goading and it slipped.

And now, though part of him still thinks he was right to be angry, he's the one feeling ashamed.

Sherlock doesn't always know how his words affect people, but John does. John knew better and now Sherlock's not answering his texts. He settles on one last message, one last apology he hopes Sherlock will recognize as such.

When Sherlock finally receives it, he smiles because John does know him _so well_. John knows that his opinion of him is the only thing that could both break Sherlock down and build him up with just one sentence.

_You know I think you're brilliant. -JW_


	10. Bloom

**A/N: Post Reichenbach, Pre-Empty Hearse. John/Mary.**

Her name is Mary and he meets her in the Spring. She is unlike any woman John has ever known, and surprises him at every turn. She makes him smile with a mouth that had forgotten how, she makes him laugh with a throat he thought had lost the ability. She excites him with her wit and cleverness. When she touches him, he finds himself leaning into her warmth, like a flower straining for the warm glow of the sun. While he knows it will never fully heal, John finally has hope that the hole in his chest where a certain consulting detective used to go might seal over, leaving only the ugly scar.

Mary is his salvation when he thought there was none to be had. The days no longer seem so empty and directionless, because when he struggles she is _there. _He realizes long before he gets the courage to ask that he's going to marry her someday.

He had thought for so long that he was dry, dead earth where nothing more could grow. Certainly not love nor joy. Now, however, she's given him the water and the sun and the nutrients he'd been lacking, and planted seeds in fertile ground.

Later, he'll think how appropriate it was, that he met her when the flowers were in bloom.


	11. Bath

**A/N: All-dialogue chapter. Special thanks to codename penguin for this (slightly modified) b word suggestion!**

"Oi! What are you doing?!"

"Well what are you doing?"

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing, Sherlock?!"

"John, I do not have time to play the state the obvious game. I have a theory about the Ellis poisoning. I think the daughter may have—"

"Sherlock, I'm naked!"

"...So?"

"So get out!"

"If you wanted privacy, John, you should have bolted the door."

"Bolted the – Sherlock, you took apart the bolt last week and used the pieces for one of your experiments! And I told you not to, so you wouldn't do things like this."

"Oh. Right. Now about the Ellis daughter, she seems to have lied about knowing Mr. Denver, so we can assume—"

"You aren't listening to me at all, are you?"

"Were you speaking?"

"I said get out of here. This can wait. I'm trying to relax, I want my privacy, I want _you_ not in _here._ I don't know how many other ways I can say it."

"So you want me to leave the room. Because you're naked."

"Among all the other things I listed, yeah."

"I suppose you think solving a murder is less important than—"

_"Out." _

_"Fine." _

"And next time, wait to run your poisoning theories by me until after I have some clothes on and am out of the ruddy bath!"


	12. Blessed

**A/N: This one is **_**very **_**nearly straight-up Johnlock rather than my more friendship-inclined chapters. (Like, if you squint hard it could still be just a friendship, rather than the other way around, but my intent seems pretty clear). If it's not your thing, feel free to skip the chapter or swear off me for good, because these will pop up occasionally. I just want to be diverse in these drabbles and also help relieve my internal conflict of deciding between whether I want them to just be the cutest best friends in the world or whether I want to knock their heads together so they finally wise up and kiss. ****Once again, thanks to codename penguin for the chapter theme idea.**

He awakes to gentle fingers sweeping curls from his forehead and an aching body. He's in a hospital bed and when he opens his eyes, he catches John pulling his hand away quickly.

"I was poisoned," Sherlock says, quite rationally.

"Yes," John affirms. "Someone slipped you something. They managed to pump it out of you, Thank God."

_God _is what Sherlock hears, and it must be his general haziness that makes him ruminate on a concept he'd give no thought to otherwise. He doesn't believe in a higher power, never had the required evidence. He's also never known if John believes or just uses the phrase metaphorically. He wonders, though.

"You look ill, John."

"So do you."

"I have an excuse."

"So do I."

Sherlock waits to hear it.

"You ah—it was very close.

And then, with distinct deliberateness, John takes ahold of his hand. Palm to palm, and John's thumb tracing a slow pattern over Sherlock's knuckles. Sherlock has never felt such tenderness, and he realizes that this, _this_ _right here_, is everything unspoken between them.

"Sherlock, just, try harder not to die on me again, please?"

"I'll try."

Sherlock still doesn't know or care if there's a god or not. All he knows, right now, is that John Hamish Watson is holding his hand, and he feels _blessed. _


	13. Break

**A/N: Post Reichenbach, pre The Empty Hearse.**

Lestrade doesn't grieve like John because he doesn't feel he has the right, and he doesn't believe like Anderson because he can't afford to suffer the disappointment. These days, he tries to think like Sherlock would. Believing and grieving won't change the fact that Sherlock Holmes is dead. Wasted sentiments. All that matters now is action.

That's why he's here. It takes a look in four different pubs near Baker Street to finally find John. He's slurring drunk and bitter, and it takes some effort to wrest the bottle from his hands. He pays John's tab and pulls him out of the pub.

John sways with every movement, and Greg steadies him. "Lean on me, John," he says.

John does, and Greg guides him down the street and tries to hail a cab.

Though he likes John quite well, it isn't for John that he does this. It's for Sherlock, because Greg knows that the best way to honor the late detective's memory is to take care of John Watson. He couldn't save Sherlock, but he can do this one last thing for him. At least, he can try.

_It might not be possible, Sherlock, _thinks Greg as he looks over at his slumping companion. _But I'm doing my best for you. I'm doing my best not to let him break._


	14. Boys

**A/N: Some Protective! Mrs. Hudson and Mary.**

Mrs. Hudson invites her over for tea, and Mary finds it a little suspicious that she would schedule it at a time when Sherlock and John are out on a case. Still, the afternoon engagement passes quite pleasantly, with Mrs. Hudson asking all the usual questions such as how they met and about the wedding plans.

"I'm very glad for you, Mary. After Sherlock did that terrible thing, John just wasn't the same. It's good he found you."

Mary can tell they're getting closer to the real reason she's here. The silence spirals with tension, until Mrs. Hudson looks her straight in the eye with resolved determination. "You won't hurt them, will you?"

The question squirms in Mary's chest along with the secrets she's keeping. No, she never intends to hurt them, but her lies still might. But she must keep it light, so she says, "You know I'm only marrying John, don't you, Mrs. Hudson?"

Mrs. Hudson waves it off casually. "Of course, dear, but surely you've realized by now? In the case of Sherlock and John, to hurt one would be to hurt the other."

Mary knows that's true, and the guilt spikes inside her again. "I'll do my best, Mrs. Hudson. You really care for them both, don't you?"

"Of course, dear," answers Mrs. Hudson. "They're my boys."


	15. Back

"I thought you said he was afraid to?" Mary whispers at her husband.

John replies in a similarly low voice. "He _was, _so he spent a half hour online, researching exactly how to do it properly and then decided to give it a try."

She glances at Sherlock on the sofa almost wearily. He takes no notice of them, or their conversation. That's how focused he is on his new subject. "Well, it's very sweet, John, but we have _to_ _go home._"

"I know, Mary! I've tried, but he's being very stubborn about it. Keeps saying, just a few more minutes and the next thing I know it's been an hour."

"You just have to be firm with him."

John shrugs helplessly.

"I'm going to have a go at it then," says Mary with determination.

"Better you than me," John replies with unmistakable amusement.

Mary approaches the sofa where Sherlock sits. "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" It's the only indication that he's heard her at all; he doesn't even bother to raise his eyes from the small treasure in his arms.

"Listen, Sherlock, it's great you've learned how to hold her. Really it is. But the thing is, we have to go home now. Bed-time routines are important, all the books say so. So do you _think _we could maybe have our daughter back?"

**A/N: I'm not sure anything else will ever look more adorable in my mind. Hope you enjoyed.**


	16. Boss

There are things John does for Sherlock that he'd never do for anyone else. Like getting his phone from his coat pocket while he's still wearing it, or heeding Sherlock's beck and call. Like going to a crime scene in his place or bringing home both their groceries. When Sherlock says "hold this" and hands John a body part from one of his experiments, John holds it. When Sherlock says jump, John doesn't ask how high – he just jumps as high as he can in the first place. Well, perhaps he usually asks _why, _but will jump regardless of whether or not he gets an explanation.

Those few people out there who don't think they're gay have made the general assumption that John is Sherlock's personal assistant. In a way, John supposes, he is. He does so much for Sherlock that he'd never do for anyone else short of if he was being paid for it. He's at Sherlock's disposal literally 24 hours, 7 days a week.

It doesn't bother him much, because being Sherlock's very willing friend has lead him on the type of adventures he'd only dreamed of. But some nights it hits him just how much he does for his flatmate, and he wonders with good-natured irritation just exactly when he allowed Sherlock Holmes to become his boss.


	17. Binding

**A/N: Missing moment/introspection from A Study in Pink.**

Mrs. Hudson had some paperwork drawn up for them, a standard tenant agreement: keep the place in reasonable condition, locked in for six months' rent, and at least a month's notice before vacating the premises so that she'd have ample time to find a new renter. John signed it all without much thought – he needed a place, and because Mrs. Hudson felt indebted to Sherlock for ensuring her dangerous husband's execution, she'd given them an absolute deal.

As John scribbled out his messy doctor's signature, he had no idea.

He had no idea the cane would quickly become a thing of the past, that the nightmares would dwindle in the light of new adventures, that he'd never again find himself staring at an empty blog with nothing to say. He didn't know he was entering a world of mysteries and strange cases and literal archenemies. Most of all, he didn't know his new flatmate would become the best friend he'd ever hope to have. He didn't know that Sherlock would earn his loyalty and love in far less time than should be possible, that this bond between them would be something John cherished for the rest of his life.

No, when John signed that contract, he had no idea that there would be things to come that were far more binding.


	18. Breath

**A/N: John/Mary. **

It's not supposed to be this way. He was just supposed to be a puzzle. He was the sad man with the sad eyes and once she unraveled him, it would end. They would part ways and be no better or worse for it. Just as every other man had left her, unchanged – she was arctic ice that no sun could melt.

But John Watson, she learns, is unlike any other man. He has in him the impossible combination of being so kind but so fierce. Loyal yet volatile. Soldier. Doctor. Killer. Hero. Whatever he is, she thinks, there is always more to unravel.

Their first time together is all clash and passion, rough and fast. Desperation clinging to his skin and she wonders if this is how he loses himself. She can understand him, then. Maybe he's not as complicated as she thought.

But their second time is different. Their second time is slow adoration, teasing kisses and his eyes on hers in nearly every moment. Sparking eyes with such depths. She could drown there and be quite happy. His lips spell secrets on her skin – secrets of love and pain and protection. It leaves her gasping.

It's not supposed to be this way, she thinks. She was supposed to be untouchable; instead she's falling in love with every breath.

**A/N:Started a new job that's kept me busy, so updates might be slightly less frequent, but I still intend to keep this going until I reach a natural conclusion (which honestly could take years for something so open to possibilities). **


	19. But

**A/N: References to The Sign of Three – John's missing Wednesday began with an internal debate.**

Sherlock knew experimenting on John would be considered 'a bit not good' to 'very not good.' He knew John would be furious with him, knew it because, well, he'd done it before and that hadn't gone over so well. In fact, he'd had to sit through a very boring lecture about the morality of slipping your friends different things in their tea, and he was reluctant to try anything that would cause him to suffer through _that_ again.

But there were just so many reasons to do it anyway.

John wouldn't be happy about it, but...

Sherlock needed to know the effects of a chemical compound on a man nearly the exact same weight and height as John. How often did life provide such convenience?

John would yell at him, but...

Sherlock was just so _bored, _and John always said such funny things under the influence. Streams of curse words and expounding upon the merits of fuzzy slippers, generally. Sherlock has an entire computer folder of John reactions that could keep lesser minds entertained for days.

It could be dangerous, but...

No, it wouldn't be. It was safe. Sherlock, has never, and will never, willingly put John Watson in danger.

Yes, overall, Sherlock knew it'd be a 'bit not good' thing to do to his one and only best friend.

But...


	20. Breakfast

**A/N: All-dialogue chapter.**

"John, has anyone ever told you that you're unusually attractive?"

"Excuse me?"

"Has anyone ever said that you're unusually attractive? Well?"

"Oh. _Oh, _it's an actual question—"

"What would it be besides a question?"

"Never mind. But no, Sherlock, no one has told me I'm 'unusually attractive.' Why?"

"A woman approached me in Speedy's today and said that about me, then gave me her number on a card."

"Sounds like she wants you. Has that never happened before?"

"Of course it has, it's the price of some degree of fame. But what do you think she meant by _unusually_? Do you think she meant I have an unusual amount of attractiveness, or that I'm attractive in an unusual way? Or maybe she didn't mean physically attractive at all..."

"What other type of attractive is there?"

"...magnetically attractive..."

"Yes, Sherlock, I'm sure she meant you're unusually magnetic."

"No, you're right, John, I think we can cancel that one out. What do _you_ think she meant?"

"I don't know, Sherlock. So are you going to call her or what?"

"Yes, I think I will."

"You will?"

"Of course. You've been no help, how else am I supposed to find out what she meant?"

"Okay. You do that. I'm going to figure out where this conversation went wrong while I finish my breakfast."


	21. Behind

**A/N: I don't really like Sally Donovan, but wouldn't it be interesting if there was more to her dislike of Sherlock than meets the eye?**

She's read about sociopathy before. Not for work, though that was always her excuse when _he _would ask about the books and articles. _He _didn't know she was checking off boxes which described _him_, her boyfriend, perfectly. She'd never seen him violent, but she saw him calculating, and manipulative, and saw that he could lie with such ease. She was desperately in love with him; he would rope her in with apologies and endearments, but again and again she'd find it was to suit his needs. He put himself first, always. Never seemed to care, but could pretend with the best of them.

She managed, in the end, to break free.

Sally never would have taken to Sherlock, that much is true. His casual observations were often rude, and he looked down on everyone with conceit and contempt. But that wasn't it. Suddenly there was someone new that fit so many boxes, and he must be even worse because he's drawn to the morbid murders. Not a sociopath, then. A psychopath. One day, investigating wouldn't be enough.

That's why she warns John. He seems as nice a guy as any, and she knows Sherlock will draw him into his web. She rather hopes John won't fall prey to the same kind of person she had worked so hard to leave behind.


	22. Bullet

**A/N: Spoilers for everything up to and including His Last Vow. More Johnlock than not, but could easily be platonic if you prefer.**

Sherlock never says _I love you_ in ways that John can hear. He says it when he lets John take away the drugs and cigarettes, something he's never agreed to before. He says it when Moriarty leaves them by the pool and his first impulse is to get those explosives as far from John as possible. He says it when he begrudgingly helps John and Mrs. Hudson put up Christmas lights, even though he thinks it's stupid and pointless. He nearly says it out loud when John is angry with him, but instead he says _I haven't got friends, I've only got one. _

He says it in a rooftop goodbye.

Sherlock says it in his own need to be forgiven, something he's never needed before, and doesn't John understand how unusual that is? No, John listens but never hears. He should hear it on stag night, within the meticulous plans Sherlock would never make for anyone but John, but of course he doesn't. And if music can hold emotion, then the violin chords say it all in the _Waltz for Mary and John_. There is love in every note, going unnoticed.

And then one day John finally hears the words Sherlock has been saying all along. Magnussen falls, Mary is safe, and Sherlock Holmes says _I love you _with a bullet.


	23. Blind

An explosion that tears his world apart, a searing flash of light, and chemical fumes that cause him to shut his eyes in pain. Gasping lungs, but still, the real problem is his eyes and how they feel like fire in his skull. Fear is not this.

Fear is the aftermath of safety, no life-threatening damage, just _life-altering _damage. Fear is opening his eyes and seeing nothing, just darkness and blurry movement and wondering if this is it. Wondering if the very thing that saved him from mediocrity and junkie dens will be stolen away. Because how could he observe and make deductions and solve crimes without sight? He'd have his other senses, but he's only ever used them to enhance his visual intake. He has never relied on them solely. He's never needed to.

But he's relying on them now - John's cold hands are on Sherlock's face, the ungodly scent of John's aftershave is in Sherlock's nose, but most importantly, the calming confidence of the doctor's voice is in Sherlock's ears with his prognosis.

Relief is this: "It's temporary, Sherlock. Just temporary. Your sight will return in a couple hours at most, I'd say."

John's words are his salvation. There are few things that terrify Sherlock more than the thought of living in the darkened world of the blind.

**A/N: I could probably, and might, make this into a longer fic. The idea fascinates me, for a hero to lose part of his skill set that would feel like, to them, a good portion of his identity as well. And John could be his source of comfort and that's always awesome. Reviews appreciated as always!**


	24. Bite

His name is Eric and he's a few years older than Sherlock, but in the same year at school. Sherlock laughs too loudly when he finds out, and Eric's eyes meet his across the classroom. But Sherlock isn't scared.

After school, Sherlock makes it all the way home when Eric catches up with him. A fist rears back, and it would make contact with Sherlock's skull if it wasn't for a flash of chestnut fur. Redbeard had leapt the back fence into the front yard, and his jaws clamp on Eric's arm. The older boy howls in pain and bolts away from the snarling dog at once.

The Holmes parents hear from Eric's that evening, and their intention is clear: "Do something about the dangerous mutt, or we'll get the law involved."

"He was just trying to protect me," Sherlock pleads, and his mother looks at him sadly.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock."

It is then Sherlock learns the harsh reality, that his dog's life is worth less than the complications of fighting for it. He also learns that letting his dog, his only friend, fall in his stead was far more painful than being alone. Alone protects him, and he stands by this view well into adulthood.

Something hardens inside Sherlock the day they put Redbeard down for a single, defensive bite.


	25. Brighter

Mary has known two versions of John since she first met him. The first was stable and calm, but he was a soldier without a battlefield, even she could see that. There was a blankness stretched over him, born of grief and resignation. But sometimes, _sometimes, _she could see more shining through the surface. She'd tease him and he'd be taken aback, but then he'd throw back her own wry humor, with little grins and challenges. There would be a spark in his eyes and she would feel it _pierce _her. When he smiled at her, she'd feel her world fall away and for the first time ever she felt _at home_.

She meets the second John, the true John, the day Sherlock Holmes interrupts his proposal. She reads it all in his face; the burning fury in his eyes, the twitch of the muscles in his cheek, and through it all, the mingled hurt and affection of someone more alive and passionate than she'd ever seen him. The spark she'd known only briefly was now a steady blaze, in every part of John, from his eyes to his stance to his hands reaching out to wring Sherlock's neck.

She just couldn't dislike Sherlock after that. Living in a world where Sherlock was once again alive, John's eyes were simply brighter.


	26. Bed

The day Sherlock passes out in front of him, John's blood pounds through his veins in a way it hasn't since Sherlock was shot. Still, he's never been one for panicking as a military doctor, and so he's all precision and profession. He gets Sherlock to the hospital in record time and worries that perhaps something's happened with the old wound, or that the drugs finally took their toll, or that Sherlock might have been slipped something by an enemy.

So it's a relief, of course, when they run the tests to find that Sherlock's merely flu-ridden, dehydrated, and fevered. _Bloody idiot was too obsessed with solving the case to eat properly, of course it's going to hit him harder if he's sick, _John thinks with annoyance, then chastises _himself _for not seeing the signs.

When Sherlock comes to a little later, he's halfway out of bed, eyes wild with fever and excitement. "No, John, I'm _fine, _I've solved it. I just need to check if his landlord has a-"

John interrupts with a firm hand to Sherlock's chest, pressing him back against the mattress. He's having none of this at all. His eyes are hard and unrelenting, and his tone is so firm and clipped that even Sherlock Holmes dare not argue with the solitary command John utters: "_Bed." _


	27. Blood

Sherlock comes in, collar still turned up against the wind howling around outside, and John looks up from the contents of the fridge. His expression turns from mild dismay to a sudden outburst of laughter, bubbling up from deep in his chest. With the collar turned up, it's just too perfect, John thinks.

"What?" Sherlock snaps, feeling out of the loop and not liking it at all.

John's chuckles subside, but he can't seem to rid himself of the smile. "Well, there's a crap film on the telly, something about...vampires...and it's just...you reminded me of the film. With the vampires."

Sherlock looks at him as if he's gone mad, but John can't help it. It _is _funny, and the images it conjures up are even funnier in his head.

"The useless things your mind amuses itself with are quite depressing to me, John."

John ignores the slight, far too engaged in his own train of thought to really care about Sherlock's rudeness. "No but...with your collar turned up, and your pale skin, and well, this," he says, opening the refrigerator door wider so that Sherlock could see inside.

Sherlock snorts in derision. "It's for an _experiment." _he defends, as if John really needed an explanation.

"Or a morning snack, I suppose," John chuckles. "But really, Sherlock? A fridge full of blood?"


	28. Blanket

Because John doesn't have Sherlock's deduction skills, there are some things he'll simply never know. For instance, he'll never know the truth about what happens the night that he falls asleep on the sofa, after helping Sherlock with a case - even though the evidence will quite _literally _surround him the next day.

The next morning when he wakes up in the sitting room, John won't put together the clues: a stray thread from Sherlock's coat clinging to the warm fabric, or the fact that the linens' cabinet was left carelessly open in a way that Mrs. Hudson would never leave it. He especially won't remember that his half-sleeping mind had registered, just briefly, a pause in the distant music of the violin, preceding and coinciding with the sudden warmth enveloping him.

John won't find anything particularly remarkable about waking up warm and content, even though the night had been quite cold. Instead, he'll just rub his eyes and shake off the little aches he gets from sleeping on the sofa. He'll curse himself for not getting himself up to bed, but nothing about it will seem all that out of the ordinary.

No, when John wakes up that next morning, he'll assume it was all Mrs. Hudson's doing. After all, who else would bother to cover him with a blanket?


	29. Burst

**Post-Reichenbach. **

At first John doesn't feel it. In fact, he doesn't feel much of anything. He's numb at Sherlock's funeral, he's numb after_. _His blog is blank, his mind too, and then _it _starts to come back as well. The ache, the heaviness of his entire being, centered in his leg. _No, _he thinks, _not again. _Sherlock helped him get rid of the limp and the cane. John's always seen that as a gift from Sherlock, even if the man himself would probably think it ridiculous to view it as such.

_In all the good ways he changed my life, _John thinks angrily, _I'm not giving this one back. _So John forces himself up out of his chair, reminds himself that the heaviness is all in his head, and goes outside. He's not in proper running clothes, his trousers will surely chafe, and it's raining.

He doesn't care.

He runs.

He runs and imagines he's chasing Sherlock, like that first time, after the cab. He runs after a ghost and pretends the great detective is just around the next corner, just beyond sight.

_I just have to catch up_, John thinks, and almost believes it.

John runs until the ache in his leg is but a memory, and the only thing left is the feeling of his heart, pounding fit to burst.


End file.
